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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29489844">Setting it right</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha'>Saetha</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>O Swallow, have mercy on them [Febuwhump 2021 Prompt Fills] [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>3+1, Broken Bones, Eskel Whump (The Witcher), FebuWhump2021, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Graphic Injury, Hurt Eskel (The Witcher), Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Papa Vesemir, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Young Witchers (The Witcher), and they'll come out just fine at the other end, field medicine, having Witchers is great bc you can inflict horrific injuries on them, no beta we die like 90 percent of the Wolf Witchers during the sacking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:01:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29489844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Really, Eskel, how did that bunch of ragtag bandits even get you into such a state?”</i>
</p><p>  <i>“Don’t even ask,” Eskel groans, still embarrassed. </i></p><p><i>“Then I won’t.” The smallest of smiles flickers across Geralt’s face before it grows serious again. “Must’ve been some pretty lucky bandits. You almost died.” The last sentence is spoken so quietly that it tugs at Eskel’s heartstrings. </i><br/>*</p><p>3+1. Three times Geralt cares for Eskel when he as broken bones, and one time Eskel returns the favour.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>O Swallow, have mercy on them [Febuwhump 2021 Prompt Fills] [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138178</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>febuwhump 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Setting it right</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>BACK TO MY DARLINGS. I have quite a bit of Eskel whump in particular coming up until the end of the month and I'm SO EXCITED. Broken bones is one of my favourite whump things to read and write about (hilarious tidbit: there was a time during my teenage years when the ppl at the closest countryside hospital knew me by name and greeted me with 'oh what did you break this time?' when I came in) and ofc I latched onto that like a barnacle to a rock this month. And of course it had to be Geskel. </p><p>Fair warning for a fairly graphic bit of having to re-break and re-set a bone in the last bit. You'll see it coming a mile away - feel free to skip to the end of that paragraph if that isn't your thing.</p><p>Today's prompt was: Broken Bones.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eskel doesn’t really remember <em>exactly </em>how he broke his arm the first time. A fall on the Killer, probably, although he couldn’t have been running the full thing at the age of only nine years old. Still, even the child-friendly version is dangerous enough – in fact, a larger number of boys probably broke something than those who didn’t. Geralt managed it twice, before he even turned ten.</p><p>What Eskel does remember in vivid detail, however, is how soft Vesemir’s voice had been when he had taken him to the infirmary, how wide and worried Geralt’s eyes were as he was watching him.</p><p>“It hurts.” Geralt’s voice isn’t even posing a question. He’d broken his leg just the previous year. He knows how bad it hurts, even if Eskel wishes they didn’t that particular experience in common.</p><p>“It does,” Eskel confirms, cradling his injured arm firmly to his chest as he trudges behind Vesemir. He wipes furiously at the dried tracks his tears have left on his face. <em>Witchers don’t cry</em>, he reminds himself. <em>Witchers are strong</em>.</p><p>“Almost there, boy.” Vesemir rumbles out in front of him. “We’ll get it set as quickly as we can. It won’t take long to heal.” He turns around to see Geralt still tracking along next to them.</p><p>“Geralt, pup, didn’t I tell you to join Munir for potion lessons? Scram, little one.”</p><p>“No.” Geralt sets his chin stubbornly, crosses his arms. He is small for his age, a lithe and scrawny kid that never seems to put on weight no matter how much food he wolves down. “I will stay with Eskel.”</p><p>Eskel forces himself to keep quiet and not say how much he wants Geralt to stay here. His best friend has been through his before, he knows how much it hurts. Eskel doesn’t have to act brave around him, because Geralt always knows how he feels.</p><p>Vesemir sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.</p><p>“If I tell you to leave, you’ll just sneak back in, won’t you?” he asks. Geralt gives a single nod, still staring defiantly at him.</p><p>“Alright then, you can stay. But stay out of Yorick’s way, you hear?”</p><p>“Yes.” Geralt looks as if he is perfectly willing to fight the old healer as well.</p><p>“Well then.” Vesemir sighs again and reaches out to ruffle Eskel’s hair. “I’ll return to the others. You’ll be just fine, Eskel, don’t worry.”</p><p>“Okay.” Eskel still tries to look at brave and grown-up as he can, but he can’t help his voice trembling just a little. He has heard from the other boys how much it hurts, to have your bones set when they aren’t right anymore. Vesemir gives him another smile before leaving him in Yorick’s care.</p><p>Yorick prods his arm with his fingers, his movements sure and gentle, despite the fact that he can barely see anymore. He confirms that yes, the bones have slid out of place and need to be reset, although Eskel can be glad it is a clean break, apparently.</p><p>“Sit down here, boy,” he says, pointing to one of the cots. Geralt hops up onto the cot right next to Eskel without asking and reaches out to grab his fingers.</p><p>“Just squeeze my hand real hard,” he whispers. “It helps.”</p><p>Eskel looks at him, at the earnest worry in his eyes, and nods. Despite his visual impairment, Yorick is deft with his movements.</p><p>“On three,” he says. Eskel feels his entire body tense before Yorick even starts counting. He squeezes Geralt’s hand, so hard that it must hurt, but Geralt doesn’t make a sound, just gives him an encouraging nod.</p><p>“One, two…” On two, Yorick gives a jerk, sliding the two halves of the broken bone back in place. Eskel screams and bends forward, but Geralt already has him, slinging an arm around his back and holding him close.</p><p>“All done, boy. Just give me a moment to splint it, and you should be just fine within a few weeks.” Yorick pats his head and ruffles his hair, just like Vesemir did. Eskel is still trying to breathe through the pain, but it hurts a lot less now that everything is back where it should be.</p><p>“There. Wasn’t that bad, was it?” Geralt says. Eskel grimaces.</p><p>“Still pretty bad though,” he confesses quietly. He wonders if he’ll get used to it, if it will hurt less when he’s older. He’s heard old Witchers talking about being alone on the Path, having to care for their own wounds, resetting their own bones. He doesn’t think he’d be capable of doing it himself.</p><p>Yorick splints and wraps his arm up firmly, giving him the warning not to put any strain on it for now.</p><p>“Vesemir said that you are excused from any duties or classes for the rest of the day. If you wish, I can mix you something that will help with the pain and make you sleepy. Only for today though, mind – tomorrow you are expected to help Brodin in the stables and attend any classes outside swordtraining as usual.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Eskel nods at him seriously, trying to look like a grownup. In truth, he thinks that an extended nap this afternoon sounds like a very good idea – the injury has made him exhausted and he longs to curl up on his blankets.</p><p>“Being excused from duties and classes doesn’t extend to <em>you</em> though, Geralt.” Yorick frowns in Geralt’s general direction. “You are to return as soon as possible.”</p><p>“I’ll make sure Eskel is safe first,” Geralt says, also looking very serious. “Then I’ll go back.”</p><p>Yorick seems to realise that there is little he can say or do that would dissuade Geralt, short of actively restraining him. He just sighs and waves the two of them off after having mixed the draught for Eskel.</p><p>Eskel doesn’t notice just how tired it makes him until he is curled up on his cot in the dormitory. As soon as his head hits the pillow, however, he feels like he is floating on a cloud, or slowly getting dragged into a rather soft and heavy tub of sand. Geralt is still standing next to him, although his features seem to be blending into each other ever so slightly. Eskel can barely keep his eyes open, but he still doesn’t let go of Geralt’s hand.</p><p>“Want me to stay?” Geralt asks. Eskel knows he should say no, knows that Vesemir will be terribly angry if he keeps Geralt from his classes. But right now, he is here and close, and warm, and it makes him feel comforted.</p><p>“Don’t want to make you get punished,” he murmurs. “You should go.”</p><p>“I’m staying,” Geralt decides, as if he hasn’t heard Eskel’s mumbles. “The old man can do whatever he wants.”</p><p>He climbs onto the cot behind him and wraps his arms around Eskel with utter determination. Eskel makes a relieved little noise, not even aware of how Geralt cards his fingers through his hair and whispers something about him being safe and that all will be fine. He is already asleep.</p><p>*</p><p>“Fuck.” Eskel grits his teeth against the pain as he stumbles along the path. He had gotten too cocky when fighting this particular werewolf, knowing that the beast was on its last legs. Instead of taking the time observe its movements and spin away, he had been desperate to end the fight. The werewolf’d had one last bout of strength in him as Eskel struck the fatal hit, however, enough to throw him across the cavern, until his shoulder had hit the wall with a sickening crunch, dislocating it on the spot and breaking more than a few bones in the process.</p><p>Eskel is dangerously close to overdosing on potions already and all out of White Honey, so he cannot risk taking another one. He simply has to endure and push through, somehow drag his sorry ass back to his camp where can wrench his shoulder back into its socket, curl up and sleep off the worst of the toxicity. He knows it’s dangerous; the bones might not heal right if he leaves setting them for so long, but he has little choice in the matter, being on his own as he is. And he would rather stay out here than trust any healer in the village – he has had enough bad experiences that he only goes to them as a last resort.</p><p>He doesn’t quite know how he makes it back to camp. In fact, he is fairly sure that he blacks out more than once, but he comes back to every time, stubbornly gritting his teeth and stumbling forwards. Scorpion nickers in worry when he returns and collapses next to the firepit he’d at least had the foresight of building before he left. A quick <em>Igni</em> sets the wood inside alight and Eskel leans back, closing his eyes and simply concentrating on how to breathe for a moment.</p><p>He must have passed out again, because the next thing he knows is the feeling of fingers at his throat and a familiar smell in the air – a specific mixture of leather, earth and a whiff of horse, different from Scorpion.</p><p>“Geralt,” he murmurs, trying to force open his eyes and failing. Everything is too bright, too much.</p><p>“Know anyone else who’d follow your trail willingly for two days?” There is gentle amusement in Geralt’s voice, accompanied by worry. Something jostles Eskel’s shoulder and he screams as white-hot pain lances through his body.</p><p>“Sorry,” Geralt mumbles. “But I have to move you. See how bad the damage is.”</p><p>“You could warn me, next time,” Eskel murmurs through gritted teeth. “Or ask. It’s bad.”</p><p>“What an astute, accurate observation,” Geralt says. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Can you move your hand?”</p><p>Obediently, Eskel wriggles the fingers of his hand, or at least tries to. His fingers are moving, but not as fast or with as far of a range as he would have liked.</p><p>“Fuck,” he murmurs.</p><p>“Another accurate assessment.” The dryness in Geralt’s voice is betrayed by the worry that now tinges every single syllable. “Let’s hope the nerves will be regenerate themselves once we’ve dealt with this mess.”</p><p>Eskel huffs, suppressing another scream when Geralt manoeuvres him around again. He is shaking a little, he notices distantly, likely from the pain and delayed shock.</p><p>“You have any White Honey?” he manages to press out.</p><p>“I do. Wait.” Geralt disappears and a part of Eskel immediately regrets asking, longs for Geralt’s presence back by his side. It doesn’t take long for him to return, however, and when he does, he presses a vial to Eskel’s lips. Eskel swallows its contents gratefully, leaning back when he feels the familiar twinge travelling through his boy as the potion does its work, slowly ridding him of the accumulated toxins.</p><p>“Thank you.” Eskel wipes his mouth with his uninjured hand and finally dares to open his eyes again. Geralt’s face is hovering right above him, worry written in every single line. He keeps his beard at a different, slightly longer length now compared to when Eskel has last seen him, but it looks good on him. Eskel wants to reach up and kiss him, explore his skin with his fingers, see what new scars are hidden underneath his collar, but another stab of pain from his shoulder reminds him of more urgent things.</p><p>Geralt wordlessly hands him the leather sheath of his dagger to bit on, already covered in teeth marks. Eskel grimaces but takes it nonetheless, placing it between his teeth. He has almost bitten his own tongue off once already, an experience he isn’t at all keen to repeat. He knows that drinking Swallow would make him feel better, but he cannot risk it, not yet. They’ll have to set the bones first. Eskel is absurdly grateful that Geralt is here with him – he has no idea how he would manage a wound this bad on his own, or how he would be able to get to the next village, for that matter.</p><p>“Ready?” Geralt asks him.</p><p>“No,” Eskel grimaces. You can never <em>really</em> be ready for this kind of pain. “But best to get it over with.” Geralt nods and waits until Eskel has placed the leather sheath between his teeth. He takes Eskel’s hand on his uninjured arm in his own fingers and squeezes, places it on his leg.</p><p>“There. Hold on as firmly as you can,” he says. Eskel nods, feeling the warmth of Geralt’s skin through the fabric of his pants.</p><p>Geralt doesn’t even bother counting – he simply reaches over and with one single, brutal movement, yanks his shoulder back into its socket. Eskel let out a grant of pain and leans forwards at the sudden bout of nausea racing through him. He almost blacks out briefly. The next conscious thing he notices is Geralt’s hand on his chest, splayed right above his heart as he is pulling him close.</p><p>“Easy,” Geralt whispers. “Breathe.”</p><p>Eskel closes his eyes and listens to his heartbeat, anchors his breathing to it until he trusts himself to have his body back under control. Geralt gives him another few moments, simply holding him close, before he sets to work on his bones again. He doesn’t wince at Eskel’s muffled shouts of pain, although his sympathy is clear in his eyes; instead, he concentrates on doing the work as quickly and efficiently as possible, not a single move too many as he does his best to set the bones and splint them.</p><p>Eskel sags against him when he is done, allowing himself a few precious moments of weakness in Geralt’s arms, where he is safe and loved. The leather of his armour feels cool against the scars on Eskel’s cheek, grounding him. Geralt’s hand is on his back, a warm and steady weight as he simply holds him and it isn’t the first time that Eskel marvels at how freely Geralt’s love is always given, how kind the man behind the Witcher is.</p><p>“C’mon. I have some Swallow ready, then you can sleep,” Geralt murmurs into Eskel’s ear and Eskel peels himself away from him with a sigh. He drinks the potion and feels the familiar thrumming in his veins, his eyes becoming heavy. Unless he is in the middle of a fight, Swallow has always made him sleepy, and this time is no exception. Without asking, Geralt wraps his arms around him again, pillowing Eskel in his lap and allowing him to find a comfortable position to protect his shoulder before closing his eyes.</p><p>Eskel drops off into sleep to the soft sound of humming from Geralt’s throat, an old melody that Vesemir used to hum for them when they were both little boys still.</p><p>*</p><p>This is decidedly not how he had planned on leaving this world.</p><p>Eskel coughs and groans at the splitting pain the motion sends through his chest. There is an old saying that Witchers don’t retire – they get killed on the Path, sooner or later, and that’s it. Eskel has never been particularly bothered by the thought of getting killed by a monster. The world is large, and sooner or later he is bound to meet one that will surpass his capabilities, or else simply get lucky.</p><p>This, however…</p><p>Eskel rolls to his side, an arm clenched around his midsection, and tries to heave himself up again, cursing the muck and the continuously falling rain. He doesn’t get past the kneeling position, however, as another jolt of pain from his shattered ribs flashes through him and he has to sink back down. He is half afraid that any more movement will make at least one of them pierce his lungs or other organs and that is a situation dangerous even for a Witcher. Besides, he isn’t sure whether his legs could carry him either way; it feels very much like one of his ankles is at least sprained.</p><p>He lies back in the muck and releases a string of curses in the air. Bandits. Of all the fucking things to die from in this bloody world, it had to be bloody bandits that he should have been able to win against with one hand tied behind his back. It had been a mixture of shitty terrain, shitty weather, and even shittier luck that had brought him down. Vesemir would have been fuming if he could have seen him.</p><p>Eskel fumbles for his potion pouch again and discovers to his dismay that the bandits took even that from him. His horse, his entire set of belongings, even his swords. Any valuable that he’d had on his person, really, and then they just dumped him out here to die, miles away from the nearest settlement. It seems like he is well and truly fucked, a miserable excuse for a Witcher. If he cannot move, he cannot eat, and even Witchers starve to death eventually. His brothers would be laughing if they could see him now. And, worst of all, Geralt will be waiting for nothing – they had decided to meet up for Midaëte this year, which was only a few days away. Eskel wonders whether he will eventually go looking for him and find his corpse in this ditch, or whether wild animals will devour him first. The latter, most likely.</p><p>Eskel doesn’t know how long he’s been lying there, wet and miserable. The hours and days morph into one, and from time to time he manages to drag himself a few steps before the pain forces him to give up again. He hates this, he hates not being able to push past it, to simply crawl to the nearest village and ask for help. Gritting his teeth, he tries to move a little further through the slippery mud. Despite it being the middle of the summer, the rain and wind have chilled him thoroughly and his fingers have begun to grow numb.</p><p>Therefore, he doesn’t immediately feel it when the mud beneath him gives way to crumbling earth and rock. When he finally notices, it’s too late, and he has already begun sliding downwards. The slippery ground provides nothing for him to hold on to and he quicky gains enough momentum to make it impossible for him to arrest his fall.</p><p>He slides down the muddy slope, groaning helplessly, before the ground below him is gone completely. For the duration of a single breath, he is falling freely before the ground meets him and his broken ribs. Everything explodes in a shower of red and hot pain before darkness descends.</p><p>*</p><p>He wakes up to cursing and decides that this means it’s unlikely he has made it all the way to the afterlife. Or at least, he hopes that the afterlife won’t consist of a shooting pain in his chest and someone’s voice desperately mumbling ‘<em>come on, fucking hell, come on Eskel, if you fucking die on me</em>-‘ in some variation over and over.</p><p>‘I’m not dead,’ is he what he wants to say, but out comes something that is more akin to “Mn-dd.”</p><p>The voice stops for a moment and there is a hand on his cheek, a thumb gently tracing across his scars.</p><p>“Eskel?”</p><p>Eskel does his damnest to force his eyes to open. It takes a while until the blurry figure over him solidifies into a harried-looking Geralt, hair damp from rain and eyes bright with worry.</p><p>“Ngh.” This time, he doesn’t even try to form words. Geralt leans back a little in relief, a few drops of water dripping from his hair onto Eskel’s chest. Eskel can still hear the sound of the rain, but it’s dry where he is now, and that alone is enough of a relief to make him take and release a deep breath. Or try to; as soon as his chest moves, a flash of pain shoots through him and he groans.</p><p>“Shhh, don’t move.” Geralt places a hand on his sternum, right below his throat where it hurts the least. He presses a vial to his lips, watches as Eskel slowly drinks the proffered potion.</p><p>“Your ribs were pretty mangled when I found you. Potions are still doing their work.”</p><p>Eskel lifts his head to try and catch a glance at his chest, but all that he finds are thick swathes of bandages wrapped around what he presumes must be multiple broken ribs. It’s a miracle that his fall hadn’t killed him outright. And another that Geralt had found him.</p><p>“How’d you-“</p><p>“You were late for our meeting. And when I went looking for you, I noticed someone who was riding a horse that looked an awful lot like Scorpion. Wasn’t heard to find out what had happened.” Geralt shrugs, but his frown betrays the anger and worry he must have felt.</p><p>“Scorpion.” Eskel groans and tries to move again. “Is he-“</p><p>Geralt increases the pressure of his hand on Eskel’s skin, keeping him prone.</p><p>“He’s just fine. Brought him and all your gear. Really, Eskel, how did that bunch of ragtag bandits even get you into such a state?”</p><p>“Don’t even ask,” Eskel groans, still embarrassed.</p><p>“Then I won’t.” The smallest of smiles flickers across Geralt’s face before it grows serious again. “Must’ve been some pretty lucky bandits. You almost died.” The last sentence is spoken so quietly that it tugs at Eskel’s heartstrings.</p><p>“Don’t tell me you were worried about me, Wolf.” Eskel reaches up, catching a few fleeting strands of Geralt’s hair between his fingers and tugging at them. Geralt lowers his head obediently until their lips meet. He kisses the corner where Eskel’s scars meet his lips, moving along the curve of his mouth, pressing little kisses on his skin as he goes. Eskel hums quietly into his touch, a sure way to establish that he truly isn’t dead.</p><p>“Missed you,” Geralt mumbles into the space between them, resting his forehead against Eskel’s for a moment.</p><p>“Missed you, too,” Eskel replies, in the exact same tone. They stay like this for a while longer before Geralt extracts himself from Eskel’s touch, helping him into a slightly more upright position before fetching some food for them.</p><p>“So, how bad is it?” Eskel gestures at his chest. Every breath he’s taking still hurts, although it is a much more subdued echo of the pain he was in before. “Certainly didn’t feel good when it happened.”</p><p>“Ha.” Geralt harrumphs softly as he watches Eskel eat. “Looked like someone had taken a tenderiser to your chest. Sheer luck that you didn’t stab yourself to death with your own bones.”</p><p>“Well, fool’s luck and all that, I guess.” Eskel waves his hands a little.</p><p>“Don’t do that.” Geralt cocks his head. “You aren’t a fool.” Eskel snorts, but he knows it’s pointless to argue. He certainly had been a fool this time round, but there is no way to make Geralt see it. And in any case – what is done is done, Geralt is here with him now, and with some rest he’ll be back to hunting monsters in no time, if his bones knit themselves back together properly. Well, perhaps after spending some time with Geralt, like they’d originally planned.</p><p>“I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time for Midaëte,” he says softly.</p><p>“Well, you had a good excuse.” Geralt shrugs a little. “And it’s not like we cannot spend a few more days together, take a little break.”</p><p>“Really?” Eskel grins. “You think you can take a break from Witchering for a while for my sake?”</p><p>“Not sure.” Geralt shoots back an equally cheeky grin, rolls his shoulders a little. “Get covered in slimy monster entrails or spend some time mapping those new scars of yours? A hard choice. Very difficult.”</p><p>Eskel flicks a piece of vegetable from his stew at him. Geralt catches it and pops it into his mouth raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“Disgusting.” Eskel shakes his head. “Utterly disgusting. I don’t know how I put up with you.”</p><p>“Ah, admit it, you love me.” Geralt places his chin in his hands, a slight smile tugging at his lips as his gaze roams over Eskel’s form, as if to make sure that he truly is getting better, that he won’t suddenly fall over and die.</p><p>“Of course I do, you dolt.”</p><p>*</p><p>“Agh.”</p><p>Geralt winces and tries to withdraw from Eskel’s touch. However, he is kept from doing so by Eskel’s stern glance at him.</p><p>“Stop sulking. If you’d set it correctly the first time, we wouldn’t have this issue.”</p><p>“I know,” Geralt grinds out between clenched teeth. “Still hurts.”</p><p>“Of course it does.” Eskel is nothing but not careful in his movements as his fingers travel along Geralt’s right forearm and press into his skin, but he does have to feel the shape of the bones, needs to know where the problem is so that they can set it right. “It grew together all wrong. What did you do, anyway?”</p><p>“Was fighting a leshen. It threw me off, my arm hit a tree. No healer nearby so I had to set it myself. Thought it was fine, until it kept hurting.”</p><p>“And you didn’t think to seek out a healer somewhere? Walked around with an aching arm all summer instead until you made it back to Kaer Morhen?” Eskel shakes his head, amusement, worry and anger warring inside his chest. “Geralt, I don’t say this lightly but…you <em>idiot</em>.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Geralt snaps at him, without heat. “At least I’m not lying half dead in a ditch somewhere with a shattered chest from a couple of bandits.” Eskel punches him in the healthy arm with a half-hearted frown.</p><p>“That was <em>one</em> time,” he says. “But you’re right. We should probably call it quits.” He has finished with his examination of Geralt’s arm. At least it looks like the original break had been a clean one, in one place only on the ulna, and then grown back together crooked.</p><p>“More than quits,” Geralt interjects. “For some reason, you seem to be the expert in breaking bones amongst the two of us.” Eskel opens his mouth to deny it but closes it when he has to concede that Geralt is right, although neither of them is truly keeping a tally. He lifts his hands in capitulation.</p><p>“Alright, alright. Do you want Vesemir to help when I break it again? Or do you think you can manage?” Lambert isn’t home from the Path yet, or Eskel would have asked for his help. He can see that denying it is right at the tip of Geralt’s tongue, before he re-considers, evidently remembering the multiple times their old mentor has been there for them as children.</p><p>“Vesemir might be useful,” Geralt admits, not looking at Eskel. He looks so young all of a sudden, as if they haven’t spent decades on the Path. In a way, Eskel is grateful for that time and whatever knowledge about healing he’s been able to pick up from book and travelling doctors he’s run across on the Path.</p><p>It doesn’t take long for them to prepare. Geralt declines any painkillers in advance, opting instead to drink Swallow after to speed up the healing. Eskel is sceptical, but it isn’t his place to judge. Vesemir takes his place behind Geralt on the cot so that his pup can lean back against him, arm held perfectly still in the grip of his strong hands, on top of the little table on the side. Eskel grimaces when he picks up mallet and piece of wood to direct the force the blow just right. He really doesn’t want to do this more than once.</p><p>“Ready?” he asks. Geralt nods, although his skin is paler than usual. He bites down hard on the piece of leather in his mouth. Vesemir mumbles something quiet in his ear that makes him smile, and Eskel chooses that exact moment to break his bone again with a resounding crack.</p><p>Geralt jerks in Vesemir’s grip and spits out the piece of leather. He sags against their mentor’s chest, eyes closed and breathing heavily through his nose.</p><p>“Fuck,” he grits out. “That hurt a lot more than I remembered.” Eskel swallows, a pang of guilt travelling through him. The fact that it was necessary to cause Geralt this much pain to make it better in the long run doesn’t really serve to make him feel all that much better about it.</p><p>“Easy, pup.” Vesemir rubs Geralt’s healthy arm and wipes a few stray hairs away from his face. “All done now.” He directs a questioning glance at Eskel, as if to verify the truth of his last statement. Eskel raises his hands and shrugs a little – he wants to give Geralt a few more moments to get through the worst of the pain before he examines his arm again. He sure hopes he’s done it right.</p><p>Eskel reaches out and squeezes Geralt’s leg. Geralt’s hand comes to rest on his, contact light but unmistakeable in the way it longs for Eskel’s touch.</p><p>“Let’s get the rest of this over with,” he sighs and Geralt obediently holds out his arm again before the swelling becomes too large and it gets even more difficult. Eskel probes it with careful fingers and is satisfied to find that the break was exactly right. He exchanges another quick gaze with Vesemir who gives him a nod and tightens his grip around Geralt again when Eskel resets the bone, liberally smears the area with a salve to help reduce the swelling and splints it so that the bones will stay in their correct place this time. By the time he is done and the arm is set securely in a sling around his throat, Geralt is breathing harshly again, pallor several degrees too ashen to be entirely healthy.</p><p>“There, all done.” He pulls him close when Vesemir releases his grip around him, presses a quick kiss to his lips. Afterwards, he offers him some Swallow, which Geralt drinks with a grateful sigh.</p><p>“I’ll go get some snow from outside,” Vesemir offers. “To help keep the swelling down.” They both nod, Geralt whispering his thanks at him.</p><p>“Want to lean against me?” Eskel asks, as soon as Vesemir is gone.</p><p>“If you don’t mind.” Geralt gives him a little smile. The Swallows is already beginning to work and Eskel knows from experience that it’s not always the most comfortable feeling.</p><p>“C’mon then.” He seats himself on the bed in the same spot that Vesemir had been in earlier, leaning back against the headboard. Geralt folds into him with a grateful little sigh, arm cradled to his chest and a soft hum of comfort on his lips as he nuzzles his nose into Eskel’s throat, head heavy on his shoulder. Eskel wraps his arms around him, intertwining the fingers of one set of their hands.</p><p>“Thank you,” Geralt murmurs, breathing slow and comfortable, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against Eskel’s chest.</p><p>“Always, wolf, always.” Eskel smiles and presses a kiss into his white hair. He’ll do whatever it takes. Always.</p>
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